


Like A Prayer

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year on May 2nd, George mourns the loss of his other half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bendleshnitz1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendleshnitz1/gifts).



_May 2, 2001_

The rain outside the dingy pub echoed on the dilapidated roof, the pitter-patter of precipitation matching the same cadence that sounded at the bar as Tom poured another glass of Firewhiskey. Normally, the old barkeep would make some comment about how he saw the fourth Weasley child in his pub far too often than was healthy, but today he kept mum on the subject.

“On the house, lad,” he muttered as he pushed the tumbler full of amber liquid across the bar.  
George nodded and muttered what might have been thanks before he raised the glass to his lips and took a long sip. The alcohol burned as it trickled down his throat, but he didn’t care. Burning was good. It meant that, despite the general numbness of his heart, his body could still feel _something_.

Three years to the day since Harry had defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. Three years since the growing cloud of darkness had been lifted, and the wizards and witches of Great Britain were able to live their lives without fear of what the next day would bring.

And three years since George had lost his other half; his twin, Fred.

Thinking about him brought a wave of hot tears to his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay as he tossed back the rest of his whiskey.

“Another,” he rasped as he set the empty tumbler down on the worn bar, the ‘clink’ of glass against wood echoing throughout the otherwise empty pub.

Tom shook his head, but set about pouring the young man another drink. It was the same every year; he’d come in as soon as the memorial service was over and drink enough Firewhiskey to cripple a hippogriff. Then, once he’d passed out on the bar, Tom would move him to the back room so he could kip it off a bit until one of his equally flamed-haired siblings would come and take him home.

The war had taken so much out of everyone, he mused, but none had suffered as much as the young man who sat across from him at his bar. It was the least he could do but help numb his pain, at least for a little while.

The bell over the pub door jingled merrily, its happy tone clashing with the dreary mood that permeated every surface of the dimly lit room. George paid the door no heed, though, and took his fifth- or was it sixth?- Firewhiskey from the barkeep.

“Hello, George Weasley.”

The light female voice startled him from his reverie, causing a precious bit of whiskey to escape over the side of the glass and drip down onto his black robes. He blinked, the action slightly sluggish, and turned to squint at the person who’d said his name.

“Looney?”

  
_Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone_

 _I hear you call my name_

 _And it feels like home_

The willowy blonde smiled and shook her head as she sat down on the stool next to him. “No, you’re not looney. You’re drunk. There is a difference.”

Her special brand of logic wasn’t making much sense to his alcohol-laden mind. Then again, her reasoning didn’t make much sense when he was stone-cold sober. But she was pretty, that much he could recognize. It’d been a little over two years since he’d last seen her, when she and Ginny had finished Hogwarts. Old Xeno had mentioned to his mum that she’d gone on tour, off to Patagonia to search for some nonexistent species or something like that. He hadn’t paid attention.

There were very few things he paid attention to lately, though. Mostly, he worked and drank; the former was his homage to his twin- Weasley Wizard Wheezes had been their dream, and he owed it to his brother to see it through.

The latter was how he managed to survive from day to day.

Luna sighed and reached out, placing her finely-boned hand on his arm. The light touch drew his attention down to where she’d touched him, and through his hazy thought process, he couldn’t help but notice how stark the contrast between his black robes and the pale skin of her hand was.

“What’re you doing here?” he slurred, dragging his gaze from her hand up to her clear blue eyes. She’d changed in the years since he’d seen her; the quirky little blonde who’d always had her nose in a copy of _The Quibbler_ had morphed into a tall, ethereal beauty. There was still an air of oddity about her, even more pronounced by the fairy wings she wore in her hair, but on the whole, she resembled a nymph from a Greek myth.

He couldn’t remember Greek nymphs wearing radishes for earrings, though.

“Ginny said you’d be here and asked me to take care of you,” she answered.

“Dun need takin care of,” he grumbled into his glass. He tipped it back to take another sip only to find that there was nothing left. “Need more.”

Smiling beatifically, Luna stood and reached for his hands, wrapping her much-smaller ones around his. “C’mon, George Weasley. You need a sleep and a hot meal.”

 _I need Fred_. The thought went unvoiced, though, in favor of, “Need more whiskey.”

“If you drink too much, Flitterfaeries will be attracted to you, and we _all_ know what happens when they come around,” she said matter-of-factly, tugging him off the barstool.

“Let’s get you home.”

George actually had no idea what happened if Flitterfaeries showed up, or even if those were real faeries, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough and say something. Luna was warm, and soft, and a _lot_ stronger than she looked, if the way she was supporting his weight was any indication.

“Home,” he slurred before the darkness came crashing down, and he passed out in her arms.

  
_When you call my name it's like a little prayer_

 _I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there_

 _In the midnight hour I can feel your power_

 _Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there_

 _  
I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighing_

 _I have no choice, I hear your voice_

 _Feels like flying_

 _I close my eyes, Oh God I think I'm falling_

 _Out of the sky, I close my eyes_

 _Heaven help me_

 _May 2, 2002_

Luna and George were both soaked by the time they crashed into Luna’s little cottage on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. Just like last year, she had had to drag him out of his alcohol coma at the _Leaky Cauldron_ and back into civilization. He had yet to black out on her, though, and they both considered that a step up from the year before.

“Here we are,” Luna said soothingly as she helped him into one of the oversized armchairs next to the fireplace. “Let me light a fire. It’ll help keep the Wrackspurts from crawling in your ear canal.”

George snorted and leaned his heavy head back against the soft back of his chair. “You talk crazy, Luna. But you’re funny.”

“I don’t talk crazy,” she answered, pointing her wand at the fireplace. She whispered a quick spell, then smiled in satisfaction as flames leapt from the pre-laid kindling in the grate, instantly warming the little room. “I’m perfectly normal, just as you are.”

The alcohol, which had already made him feel numb and impervious to the pain of the day, also loosened his tongue. “You’re not normal,” he said, face screwing up as he tried to crinkle his nose. “You talk funny and say things about animals that don’t exist. And you wear vegetables as fashion accessories. That’s _not_ normal.”

Words that would have offended any other woman merely brought a soft smile to Luna’s face. “Being normal is overrated. And you think I talk funny because you don’t understand the way I talk.”

He ignored her perfectly valid point. “Fred was funny,” he murmured, gazing off into the fire. “Funnier than me. Everyone loved Fred.” _I loved Fred_. “He was…”

“Your other half,” Luna finished softly.

George looked up, dragging his gaze from the fire up to her light blue eyes.

“My other half,” he whispered.

Luna slipped off her shoes and shed her coat, laying it over the back of an extra chair. She wore a simple black cotton dress, against which her pale skin shone like polished alabaster. Not that he had noticed, of course. He hadn’t… no woman had held his attention for longer than a few minutes since Fred had died. He and Angelina had tried, though; they’d been drunk, and needy, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to go through with it. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, especially her.

With a soft exhale, Luna crossed the small room and settled down in his lap, curling up against him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Everyone loves you, too, George Weasley,” she murmured, offering comfort in whatever way he would accept it.

He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut against images only he could see. “I look in the mirror and I see my dead twin,” he said flatly. “My friends, my family; they look at me and see Fred.”

“No,” Luna whispered. “They don’t; they see George.”

“They see the better half,” he whispered, his voice strangled. “ _I_ should have been the one who died, not him. They would miss me less than they miss him.”

She scoffed and cupped his cheek. “George, look at me.” When he refused to open his eyes, she said, “Don’t make me hex your eyelids to your eyebrows, George Weasley.”

George opened one eye to glare at her through unshed tears. “Don’t lie to me, Luna,” he rasped. “I’m not me without him.”

“And you say I talk crazy,” she whispered as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his brow.

  
_Like a child you whisper softly to me_

 _You're in control just like a child_

 _Now I'm dancing_

 _It's like a dream, no end and no beginning_

 _You're here with me, it's like a dream_

 _Let the choir sing_

 _May 2, 2003_

The springtime rain poured down outside, turning the gentle brook next to Luna’s cottage into a roaring stream. The wind howled about, causing the torrential downpour to fall at an extreme angle. It cut those who were stupid enough to venture out to the bone, showing no mercy as it continued its onslaught upon the English countryside.

The two people in the little house paid it no heed, though.

Hitching Luna against the wall, George encouraged her to wrap her legs around his waist as his hands fell to her hips, fingertips digging in as his lips found hers once more.

He wasn’t sure whether she’d kissed him, or vice versa, but all he knew was that the desire and longing that had been steadily growing for a year now had finally come crashing down about their heads. Luna had cornered him after the memorial service and, in her own special way, insisted that he _not_ go on his yearly bender.

They’d argued, or, rather, he’d protested and she’d merely smiled and nodded as if he were a slow child who couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. And that _face_ she made, with the wide eyes and her fluttering lashes- he just couldn’t take it anymore. He’d kissed her then, in the small Alley near the Ministry.

If she hadn’t had the wits about her to Apparate them away, that’d have been where he’d taken her, too.

Luna’s sharp teeth nipped at his lip, bringing his focus back to the here and now. Her little hands slid over his shoulders and underneath this dress robes. Though still separated from his skin by his shirt, George could feel the warmth seeping from her palms to his back. It drew a shudder and a soft groan from him, and he wrenched his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck.

She hummed softly and tilted her head back to allow his wandering lips better access to the pale column of her throat. “Mmm, _George_ …”

“Say it again,” he growled, biting at her pulse point.

Dreamy eyes found his as he hands slid up to his head, long fingers sliding through ginger locks. “ _George_ ,” she whispered in that lilting, ethereal voice of hers. She rolled her hips against his, and a soft moan escaped her lips when she the obvious evidence of his arousal, firm against her.

Merlin, how long had it been since the feel of a woman’s body, all soft curves and even softer skin, had enticed this kind of response from him? Much longer than he’d care to admit, though he had every intention of remedying that now.

Tugging her body tight against his, he started to walk them back towards her bedroom. It was amazing that they didn’t fall in a heap and break their necks, as neither of them were looking at anything but the other. Hands and lips roamed, exploring one another’s bodies in a pale imitation of what would transpire once their clothes were on the floor.

It was a miracle that they both made it to her tiny bedroom unscathed but for love marks, pressed into flesh by pearly teeth. George laid her down on the downy bed, one hand traveling up beneath her skirt along the smooth skin of her inner thigh as he leaned over her to kiss her once more.

He let out a strangled growl when his hand stopped at the juncture of her thighs and felt _no_ material there to bar his way. “No knickers?”

Luna sighed, her hips rising to his touch. “No,” she murmured. “There’s an infestation of Knoozlbees in my lingerie drawer and I’ve yet to get rid of them.”

His exasperated snort quickly turned into a moan when she reached out and wrapped her hand around his growing erection, making all other thoughts by this moment and _Luna_ flee from his mind as they both surrendered to their passion.

  
_Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there_

 _Just like a muse to me, you are a mystery_

 _Just like a dream, you are not what you seem_

 _Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there_

 _  
Just like a prayer, I'll take you there_

 _It's like a dream to me_

 _May 2, 2004_

At Luna’s suggestion, they skipped the public memorial service at Hogwarts that year. Listening to Shacklebolt and others give speeches about the brave souls who’d lost their lives fighting so that they could live in freedom got a bit old after a while. Besides, they’d both heard everything there was to say about the Final Battle.

They would never forget.

The sun was shining brightly in the sky as the pair made their way towards the tombstone. Fred’s grave lay in the family plot at the little cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole, beneath a magical willow tree that Bill and Fleur had planted. No matter what the season was, the tree’s bright green leaves always fluttered in the breeze.

Squeezing his hand lightly, Luna turned her face up to his. “I’d like to talk to him first, if you don’t mind.”

“Erm, alright,” George said, lips giving a half-hearted twitch as he tried to smile at her. “I don’t think he’s going to answer you, though.”

“Maybe not where _you_ can hear,” she said airly as she stepped forward. She kneeled in front of the marble headstone, settling in on her knees. She pulled out her wand and whispered a soft spell, magicking the sprigs of rosemary and forget-me-nots into a wreath, which she lovingly laid at the foot of Fred’s tombstone.

“Hello, Fred Weasley,” she murmured softly, reaching out to trace her fingers over the name engraved in the marble. A gust of wind blew through the cemetery, rattling the willow’s branches and making Luna’s long blonde hair fly about her face.

She quirked her head to the side as if listening for something, then smiled. “Yes, I’m trying to take care of him. He needs a lot of it, you know, since you’re not here.” Her fingers dropped down to the wreath she’d just laid. “Some days are still bad, but those days have been numbered since…” her hand moved from the wreath to the small swell of her stomach, which was _barely_ protruding with the tiniest hint of a baby bump. “Well, you already know that.”

Her head tilted back, and she squinted as she looked up at the bright blue sky. “He keeps insisting we’re having a boy, and we are. We’re also having a girl.”

“Luna, you don’t know that,” George interjected from behind her, arms crossed as he watched the scene before him with a wry expression in place.

Luna turned her head to look back at her boyfriend. “Love, I’m trying to have a conversation with your brother. Please don’t interrupt us when we’re talking.”

Smiling at his bemused expression, she turned back to the gravestone. “Anyway, you’re going to be an uncle to a little boy Weasley and a little girl Weasley. Isn’t that nice?”

A bird sounded in the tree, and she looked up and smiled at it. “Of course, Molly thinks we should be married before the babies come. We don’t think it matters, though.”

Privately, George wished Luna would let him whisk her off to the Ministry for a quick wedding, just so he didn’t have to hear his mum blather on about their child having parents who weren’t married, but that wouldn’t be right by Luna. If he knew her- and by now, he most certainly did know her- then they would be married whenever she decided that it was time.

When that would happen, though, was anyone’s guess. Even though he knew her, she still made him shake his head and wonder just what the hell went on inside her brain.

Silence passed for a long moment before Luna spoke again. “We wish you were here, too,” she said softly, nodding as if Fred could see the slight gesture.

Luna rose gracefully from her spot on the ground and padded back to him, going up on tiptoe to press a kiss to George’s cheek. “Now it’s your turn,” she murmured.

Taking a deep breath, George gave her a quick kiss before he released her and walked the few short steps to his twin’s grave. He didn’t kneel as Luna had; instead, he remained standing, letting the tips of his fingers brush over the top of the headstone.

Words weren’t needed. Words never _had_ been needed. Even when Fred had been alive, it had been as if the two of them shared a brainwave. What one thought, the other spoke and vice versa. Though they were usually chatty, they could spend hours in silence and it would be as if they’d been conversing the entire time.

When Fred had died, he’d felt as if he’d lost part of himself. And he had; George wasn’t _George_ without Fred, and he hadn’t been for a long, long time.

But here, and now, he felt like he was starting to heal again. He tipped his head back to look up in the long branches of the willow, lips twitching when he spied a rosefinch nestled amongst the bright green leaves.

“Miss you too, Gred,” he murmured, giving the stone one last touch before he turned back to Luna. Fred was his blood, his twin, but Luna was his future.

At last, he had found his other half.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for a friend. The song used is [Like A Prayer](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79fzeNUqQbQ) by Madonna.


End file.
